Boulevard of Broken Dreams
by Zane's Girl- Jo
Summary: Her life had fallen apart in a matter of a few hours. The others' lives had changed for the better, while hers had crumbled at her feet. She held back tears when they were together, but at night she let them fall, & then she reached for the bottle, or the razor, or her handgun... & for hours, she would lay in bed, and contemplate ending it all. WARNING: ANGST/SUICIDE. M for content


**Boulevard of Broken Dreams**

**R****ifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Summary: Her life had fallen apart in a matter of a few short hours. From what she could tell, she was never getting it back. The others' lives had all changed for the better, while hers had crumbled at her feet. She held back the tears when they were together, but at night, when she shut the door and slipped into bed, she let them fall, and then she reached for the bottle, or the razor, or her handgun... and for hours, she would lay in bed, and contemplate ending it all. ****WARNING: ANGST and SUICIDE. **

Her life had fallen apart in a matter of a few short hours.

And from what she could tell, she was never getting it back.

The others' lives had all changed for the better- Henry was married to Grace, Fargo was Director of GD, Kevin- Allison's darling son- was no longer autistic, and Allison and Carter were together- while hers had crumbled at her feet. Sure, she was Head of Security for GD, but other than that, she had nothing. No one.

Well, she had the others that had gone to 1947 with her, but no one to call her own.

No lover, no husband.

And the man she'd been dating, had almost gotten engaged to, hated her in this timeline. He was dating _Zoe Carter_. She loved the girl like a little sister, but hated her. Not that she could tell Zoe that. And whenever anyone else asked her what was wrong, she shrugged it off, replacing it with her cool demeanor.

She knew that he wasn't her Zane, but still, it hurt. It hurt to be in his presence, and want to wrap her arms around him and kiss him, and then remember that they weren't together in this time. That they hated each other.

And when she met with the others, she'd sit in silence, watching them chat and talk softly, all the while her mind was racing, searching for something to say, something to do. Something that was _normal_.

She replayed _Boulevard of Broken Dreams_ over and over on her ipod, because it fit her mood, her life. She'd roll the windows of her sporty blue car down and blast the song as she drove through town towards GD, wanting everyone to know and understand that her life was ruined.

She'd hide out in her office for hours, fiddling with the chain around her neck, struggling to hold back her tears as she ran her finger over the diamond- her last link to _him_. Her last link to her old life, to the man she loved and the life she could have had- _should_ have had- if she'd only said yes. If she hadn't answered her cell, if she hadn't hesitated and instead, had gone after him after he left the office.

It was _her _own fault her life was like this.

At night, she stayed at work long after everyone else had left, and then snuck from GD, stopping by Cafe Diem and picking up dinner, before heading home, avoiding the rest of Eureka. But at times, she couldn't flee fast enough, and ended up being dragged into a conversation with the other four.

They weren't miserable, and they didn't notice her change in mood.

If they did, they ignored it.

She held back the tears when they were together, but at night, when she shut the front door, dragged herself upstairs, and slipped into bed, she let them fall. Fat tears that stained her pillow and ridiculed her as they fell-

_'Big girls don't cry. And_ certainly _not Lupo girls.'_

She'd sob until sheer exhaustion overtook her, lulling her to sleep, or until the pounding of her heart and the gasping of her breath forced her to stop, leaving her awake with her torturous, traitorous thoughts. Thoughts of _him_, of _them_, of nights of unbroiled passion as he made love to her, as their bodies entwined as one, as he entered her body and their souls became one...

And then she reached for the bottle, or the razor, or her handgun... and for hours, she would lay in bed, and contemplate ending it all.

She turned to popping pills; half a one here, a whole one there. Slipping a half into her coffee or crushing a whole and mixing it into her soup or salad, or whatever she'd picked up for lunch. She kept track, digging grooves into the label of the bottle, a calender of how many she'd taken, and how many she had left.

She went to work high five days out of six, could barely focus, could barely _walk_, let alone make her rounds. She didn't see the glances thrown her way, didn't hear the whispers, didn't notice the concern in Zane's eyes. She kept a small baggie of crushed pills locked in her desk drawer, that she would pour into her coffee; lie and say it was sugar, even as her mind began to alter.

At night, when she was really down, she spent hours at Cafe Diem, knocking back shot after shot of ouzo until she couldn't see straight. Usually, she'd mix the crushed pills into the alcohol, or pop a couple into her mouth and knock them back with the hard licqour she begged Vincent to supply her.

She knew that mixing pills and alcohol was a bad combination, but she didn't care.

Landed her in the infirmary at GD? So what? Knocked her into a catatonic state for a few hours? Big deal. Caused her to overdose? Why worry? Made it difficult - and dangerous- for her to drive home? Not that she cared. Possibly kill her? She prayed for the 'white light.'

When she wasn't knocking back ouzo shots or mixing it with pills, she was home, sitting under the showerhead, as the water rained down around her, mixing with her tears. She sat under the water until her skin began to burn, until she pruned, until she couldn't breathe for the steam.

She turned to razor blades, fiddling with them and studying their simple design. Using the dull edge, she'd trace an outline along her skin, and then turn the other end around and press. At first, nothing. She'd press harder until she saw the skin break, saw the blood begin to bubble to the surface.

Taking deep breaths, she'd spread her legs and trace the curve of her inner thighs with her fingers- imagine it was Zane as he trailed kisses over her flesh as they made love- before turning the blade to the soft flesh. The first slice was always the most painful, but the relief always came when she saw the blood begin to fill the cut. Over time, she would go back and open up the old scars with new ones.

When she didn't work on her thighs, she turned the blade to her wrists, tracing the delicate outlines of her veins before digging into the skin. The first time, she cut deeper than she meant to- her hand shook so badly- and nicked the vein. The sight of the blood running down her arm both alarmed and calmed her, even as she rushed to the sink to clean it.

Calling Carter and Allison would have been too risky.

As she watched the washcloth turn pink from her blood, the strong scent of copper sent her heart racing, and gently removing the cloth, she stared at the cut, noticing how the blood trickled out from between the skin, like rain dripping off leaves at the end of a rainstorm. Taking a deep breath, she brought her wrist closer to her face...

And after briefly contemplating that what she was about to do was insane, she lowered her mouth to her wrist, sucking the blood as though it were her only survival. The sharp taste of copper filled her mouth, tinging her teeth and staining her lips as it passed. She cringed as she swallowed the blood, but didn't remove her lips from her wrist.

When she tumbled back on her butt, sitting back against the far wall, she pulled her wrist away from her mouth, licking the blood from her lips. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she took a deep breath, tilting her head back as she caught her breath. And then returned her wrist to her mouth, drinking in the sweet fluid as though it were the sacred, sought-after elixir itself.

She'd sit at her desk silent, hands in her lap, as she fiddled with the razor blades she kept hidden in her desk. Taking deep breaths, she'd run the blades beneath her nails, nicking the skin. She'd pretend to focus as Carter or Allison, or one of the other scientists talked to her, but her attention would wander to the blade, the urge to cut would be too great. Once the others were gone, she'd lock the door and slip under her desk, yank up her blouse sleeve or shimmy out of her pants, and cut, stifling the cry as the blade cut into the tender flesh.

By accident, on a night that she was staying late at work, she sliced her wrist, cutting deeply into the vein in her left wrist. Assuming she could get it to stop, she bound it, but soon lost consciousness, collapsing in the middle of her office.

Zane found her.

The reprecussions from that little discovery sent her futher into a tailspin.

Four nights after Allison released her from the infirmary, she went home, shaky and terrified as her mind ran through that first night. Waking up in the infirmary to Zane sitting by her side, fear in his eyes; to Allison, dumping out her handgun, the blades, her bottle of pills onto a surgical tray; to Carter, standing on her other side, holding her hand, watching as the bandages on her wrist slowly began to stain with blood, with tears in his eyes. To Zoe, her hand on Zane's shoulder, possessive yet worried for her, asking,

"Why Jo?"

She looked from one to the other, dying to reply. Swallowing her pain, she reached over and picked up one of the blades, playing with it, before turning the edge to her other wrist. Stifling a scream, she dug the edge into her skin, as Zane rushed to stop her; she shoved him away, crying,

"Because I_ love him_... and _he's gone.._.."

She shoved Zane away, dropping the blade in her lap and watching as the blood began to bubble to the surface, before bringing her wrist to her lips and biting down. The taste of copper assaulted her tastebuds and stained her tongue as she drank, and she ignored the stares of shock as the blood ran down her arm and dripped onto her hospital gown.

Eventually, she glanced up at Zane, before slowly pulling away from her wrist. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she swallowed, forcing herself to take a deep breath as she looked from face to face. She held them all at bay, kept them all away by sheer fear. Then, she tore at the bandages on her wrist, and ripped the stitching off her other wrist, silently delighting in the sight of the blood running from the now open wound.

She blacked out, as Allison screamed for extra assistance.

After a quick shower, she dressed in a pair of slacks and a tank top, pulling her handgun out of her purse. She curled up on the bed, staring at the gun, caressing it as though it were the face of an old lover. At night, she would sit on the edge of the bed, cradling her handgun, weighing the pros and cons of this new world- this new life.

And discovered that the cons far outweighed the pros.

On this particular night, she turned on Boulevard of Broken Dreams, and curled up on her bed. As the lyrics caressed her shaking form, she closed her eyes and pictured_ him_. Tears rolled down her eyes, and if she concentrated, she swore that she could feel _him_ caress her, the ghostly shadow of his hands sliding over her body and tangling into her hair.

She could taste his kiss, drank in the feel of his lips, and yearned to join him in death. For he was surely dead; this new time had a different one, a new one; her love had died long ago, just as she had when she came to this new time.

Opening her eyes, she reached for her handgun. With unfocused eyes, she thought back on a friend of hers, her own words ringing in her ears- the same words she'd told Carter after he talked about killing a few hours at the office on nothing but coffee.

"I knew a cop- not long after getting out of the Rangers, and, we eventually ended up dating, and when we broke up, we stayed friends- who worked double homicide for 41 hours straight, went home and went to bed. He had an asthma attack and reached for his inhaler, he grabbed his service revolver instead. He put it in his mouth and blew his brains out. I came over the next morning to share breakfast with him, and found him dead. I'll never forget it."

Now, she lay considering her options. She didn't have many.

Taking a deep breath, she put the barrel in her mouth. She wasn't afraid to die, and at this point, welcomed it with open arms. She prayed that_ he_ was waiting for her...

Taking one last deep breath, she pulled the trigger, splashing the back headboard with brain matter and blood, as the music continued to play. The next morning, when she didn't show up for work, Fargo asked Carter to stop by her house.

The music led him back to her bedroom, and he stared in shock at her body. She left no note, except for the music, the lyrics ringing out loud and clear, letting him know that the signs had been there all along, they'd just ignored the warnings until it was too late.

_I walk a lonely road_

_The only one that I have ever known_

_Don't know where it goes_

_But It's home to me and I walk alone_

_I walk this empty street_

_On the Boulevard of broken dreams_

_When the city sleeps_

_And I'm the only one and I walk alone_

They had no idea that she'd walked her Boulevard of Broken Dreams, and that it had led her straight to death's door.


End file.
